


my black eye casts no shadow

by scrapbullet



Category: Inception (2010), The Long Firm
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It spreads; purple and blue, and black like the furious glint in those dead eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my black eye casts no shadow

Pain blossoms and unfurls outward in a great and terrible ache in his chest; a dull throb exacerbated with every breath that passes his lips. His chest heaves, his ribs bruised and when Eames coughs onto the ground there is blood, blood staining his teeth and staining the slick lacquer of wooden floorboards. Harry's foot makes brutal contact with his abdomen, guts twisting and clenching, bruised as he cries out. It spreads; purple and blue, and black like the furious glint in those dead eyes.

Punishment. Heh; if someone were to tell him he'd be on his hands and knees begging for absolution and forgiveness like a _dog_ Eames would tell them _don't be so ridiculous, I have standards_.

But he is, isn't he, and Harry just doesn't want to hear it.

"Do you know what they used to do to thieves, Eames?" Harry says, and his voice is thick with malicious intent, "they used to cut off their grubby mitts." Of course, of course, Eames isn't bloody stupid and yet it takes him far too long to come to the conclusion, the most _obvious conclusion_ , through the bitter haze of agony; _Arthur_.

Sweet, gorgeous _Arthur_ and the Yank had been lissome and pale and utterly insatiable in his bed; had bit and scratched his nails down his back as Eames had screwed into him, held him down and licked up the sharp tang of sweat that pooled in the alluring cleft of navel.

He should've known Harry'd find out.

Gripping the scruff of his shirt Harry lifts him up, brings him close, watches the journey of blood as it dribbles from Eames' split lip. His expression is darkly possessive, his jaw tight and his breath coming hard and fast. Beneath the veneer of cool detachment and control Harry Starks is just as human as the rest of them, though he shatters apart at the seams with such _clarity_ , such vicious ease that Eames can't help but find it beautiful.

"So, what's it gonna be, hm? Arthur... or me." Malignant and parasitic; a thought takes hold within that fractured mind. Eames can see the very progression of it as Harry's hold loosens, allows him to sink to his hands and knees and tremble with a fear that nestles deep down in the very core of him, can see as it becomes manifest just as Harry becomes cold and aloof and thoughtful.

Harry cups his cheek, all false affection, and Eames knows it's all over.

Knows that Arthur is as good as dead.


End file.
